This Is What You Get
by Samsara Dallire
Summary: Dreams are often seen as the brain's way of working through deep seated emotions like rage in the subconcious. Nick finds out just how vivid they can be. One Shot.


This Is What You Get When You Mess With Nick!

Idea and lyrics lovingly borrowed from Radiohead's Karma Police – both song and video.

Nick ET el lovingly borrowed from CBS.

--don't sue me please!

Note to readers: I know it is not the norm to use songs in fan fics, but listening to Ok, Computer made me think of Nick so I inserted the lyrics in order to assist with the mood and flow of the story.

Grissom fans, please don't flame me. It really is meant to be a joke!

Synopsis

_Our dreams are often reflective of deep, subconscious emotions that we often don't realize exist._

Nick sat in Grissom's office trying to avoid the cornucopia of insects in their various cases scattered about the office.

This was a very different situation then it was five years ago when the bearded-man tricked him with a riddle. Back then he was an eager little puppy always ready to do what his master wanted him to do. Now he wouldn't even try and answer the riddle, Nick would probably just shoot back a snide comment of his own.

This shift was nearing the end and he simply just wanted to go home, sit back in his recliner chair with some kick back a few beers and listen to some somber music. He was a mood ring when it came to music. Tonight he would be in the mood for some angst-ridden lyrics.

But first he had to go through this god-forbidden evaluation.

_Just sit tight Nicky boy and you'll be done in no time._

Grissom rubbed his beard, closed the file and gave Nicky one of his trademark smirks.

"Well Nick. What can I say? You've done quite an extraordinary job this past year. I've given high marks in everything."

Nick returned the comment with a half-hearted smile.

A pregnant pause ensued with Nick wanting to hear more beyond that comment. After all, it was hard to return to a job that was the catalyst for the most horrific event in his life. An event that would haunt his dreams nightly until the day he died.

Hard to return to the strange looks; hard to return to people who were unsure what to say or act around you, thus making the situation more difficult for all in involved.

The pause ended with Grissom clearing his throat, a slight noise stirring the tension in the room.

Surprised by Nick's non-reaction, Grissom went on, "You've achieved a high score Nick, does that make you happy. Five years ago you would have been over the moon with this kind of evaluation."

_Five years ago I hadn't been kidnapped, buried alive, and eaten by fire ants._

Nick sighed deeply and then chose his words carefully avoiding conflict.

"Sorry Grissom, for a minute I lost myself." He sat up in the chair and smiled, "Well I guess this evaluation means I'm still on the payroll."

Grissom leaned back in his chair and tapped the desk with his fingers, "Obviously."

The two men studied each other for another moment. Nick looked for any kind of emotion in Grissom to crack the cool veneer. Anything that would indicate that his supervisor cared enough to want to know how he was doing and that what happened almost a year ago wasn't something that Grissom shoved into some file he had in his mind, a file marked, 'Trash' where pretty much anything that happened to the dark-haired CSI was filed in his opinion.

_Good lord, if there is indeed karma, may it hit this man full throttle!_

"Is that it Grissom?" Nick asked looking down at his hands that were folded on his chest.

'Bugman' was now looking at something in his office that caught his eye. One of his cockroaches sitting on the corner of his desk has passed away. Apparently, a prize winner from a recent race and for a moment it looked like the veneer would crack slightly at the disappointment.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Nick stood up and left the office leaving the two stoic creatures alone in their grief.

Radiohead's _Karma Police_ haunted the house of the CSI as he stretched out in his recliner. Nick had set his Heineken down on a coffee table after taking a deep gulp of it. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to finally drift off to la la land.

As he eased into the world of REM sleep, he found himself in the behind the wheel of a beaten up Chevy. His hand was already on the key, turning the ignition. The car hummed in anticipation.

Nick turned on the high beams and stepped on the gas pedal. The car moved slowly forward.

The headlights of the car ominously shone forward and in the distance Nick could see Grissom running from the car and it dawned on the Texan that the car was aiming for his supervisor.

A voice intoned:

_Karma Police, arrest this man,_

_He talks in maths_

_He buzzes like a fridge,_

_he's like a detuned radio_

Grissom ran frantically. He turned back and looked at the car; his face filled with fear.

Nick lifted his foot off the gas pedal and pressed down on the break listening as the gears screeched in protest at sudden assault on their velocity.

_He is the hunted!_

_I'm the hunter!_

A nasally voice sang out from nowhere that could be pinpointed:

_Karma police_

_I've given all I've can_

_It's not enough_

_I've given all I've can_

_But we're still on the payroll_

Smiling at the sight of his frightened supervisor, Nick Stokes put his foot back on the pedal and slowly pressed down bringing the car into motion and again began following Grissom who had stopped for a minute to catch his breath. Nick drove at a slow, steady speed. Not too slow, but fast enough to keep the Bugman running for his life.

"Nick, please stop!" Grissom's mouth formed these words at one point while looking back.

The song warned:

_This is what you get_

_This is what you get_

_This is what you get_

_When you mess with us_

Stepping on the breaks, the car shrieked to a stop as its drivers gripped the steering wheel and watched the situation unfold in front of him. Grissom had turned and faced the car.

_This is what you get_

_This is what you get_

_This is what you get_

_When you mess with us.._

Holding up his soaked psalms, the preyed man pleaded with his predator. His eyes shone full of 'deer in the headlight'.

"Nick!...please…don't do this..you'll never get away with it. The evidence. It's about the evidence. It never lies!"

The song went on:

_Oh for a minute, I've lost myself_

_I've lost myself!_

An evil laugh coming out of his tortured soul, Nick gently pressed the gas pedal down and slowly moved the car forward and watched as Grissom backed away and started to run again.

And it went on like that for god knows how long. A fatigued Grissom was running and running to get away from the rage brimming CSI. At times it appeared he was gaining on the car, but then the car would catch. Like a cheetah closing in on it a chital.

Nick's foot moved up and down on the gas pedal depending on the level of rage he felt doing this hunter/hunted death dance of theirs. As the rage seeped higher, his foot slowly came down harder, but lifted when he saw the frantic look on his supervisor's face. Only to start to drop down again as memories of their five years of the dysfunctional-as-hell relationship came charging full force igniting the rage once again like a match to a gas trail.

He could see that the bearded man was losing ground because he was tripping until he finally collapsed to his knees; his body propelled forward onto his hands. Nick stopped the car and simply let it idle and waited to see what would happen next. The show-down began.

The two CSIs stared at each other, a pane of gas separating them. Anger, hurt and bitterness raged from brown eyes to blue eyes. A sum of two parts, neither making the other whole with a few words that would have healed wounds.

Nick shifted the car into Reverse and began to back it up slowly. He wasn't sure why. Something barred him from crossing the line.

_For a minute, I lost myself, I lost myself._

_I lost myself. I lost myself._

What he didn't notice was the car was leaving a trail of liquid. Its familiar rainbow shone in the headlights. He simply turned in his seat and backed his car as far from Grissom as possible. Then he turned a faced forward.

And he noticed the trail for the first time. Nick followed the trail to Grissom who smiled as the hunter/hunted roles were now reversed and the entomologist held up a lit match on dropped it to the ground.

Nick gasped in fear and slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, frantically trying to get away from the flames as they raced before him.

Before he knew it the flames were leaping over the hood.

Nick screamed as he found himself surrounded by orange, angry flames.

His eyes popped wide open. His body felt frozen in the recliner chair. Scoping the room, he realized it was all a dream.

The sun's orange flames shone through the blinds and the robin began to sing to the world. Nick tried to gage by its merry tune what time of day it was, but sometimes it was hard to tell because it was always the same song, sung at dawn and dusk. So instead, he looked over at the clock and was surprised that he had a few hours before Graveyard began.

Nick pulled his black SUV into the Lab's parking lot and could see Grissom standing by the door talking to Catherine.

He watched his two superiors for a moment then remembered the dream.

It was a dichotomy of fear and pleasure. The pleasure coming from the moment he was in charge of Grissom's outcome, something he could never have in his life. Control over the entomologist who had ignored him for the past five years only coming out when he had made a major screw up.

However, Nick was frightened by the thought that somewhere in him was a deep-seated rage that may emerge without a moment's notice and cause great harm.

It could happen and he knew it. He'd met enough suspects over the years to know that one day the stress of life could cause one to snap.

He remembered studying about dreams in a psychology course taken in college and knew that they were often a result of emotions buried deep within one's subconscious.

The dark-haired, dark-eyed CSI decided he would research this dream and find out its meaning. In the meantime, it was best that this dream would not be shared with the department psychologist or any therapist for that manner.

Smirking, Nick got out of the SUV and went around opening the back door to get his crime kit. Holding it in one hand and sliding his shades on with the other, he strolled confidently into the lab.

Catherine and Grissom watched their dark-haired growing out into eyes CSI approach them and saw the strange smile on his face.

"Hello Nick!" Catherine greeted eyeing the strange-looking man wearily.

He nodded at her and then quickly glanced at Grissom who gave him one of his 'know-it-all' smirks.

Nick returned the smirk with one his own, one that seemed to be showing itself more often as each day passes and each crime scene seemed to bounce of his ever-thickening skin like raindrops on a crocodile's back.

He moved on leaving the two superiors to study him quizzically before dismissing him and moving on with their conversations about their own angst-filled worlds of bugs and kids.

Nick sat in the breakroom, watching_The Daily Show with Jon Stewart,_ waiting for assigments to be handed out. His thoughts seeking answers andhe concluded within himself that it was only a dream-the brain's way of working through life's issues-helping one to cope. They weren't real.

_Just because someone dreams about running down their boss with an old car, doesn't mean they are going to do it._

Grissom walked in andhanded the dark-haired CSI an assignment sheet and reported that they would be working together on a 419 out on Interstate 15-a possible hit and run.

"I'll drive." Nick quietly said.

And smiled ominously.


End file.
